bring them

Continue to bring these daggers, Slayer of my soul.

I welcome them. I asked You for them.

I asked this weekend if You would please kill me quickly.

Now, two perilous wounds in two days.

You are hearing me.

Please finish me off quickly, if You will.

a recommendation

I would recommend to anyone reading this that you not ever get carjacked at gunpoint in your driveway.

It can upset your five year-old child, should you have them with you when this happens, especially when there is a gunshot fired as you run away.

Afterward my daughter was saying things such as "my carseat.." and "my panda bear doll..." in lamenting what for her might be lost. Interesting the kinds of things that are her world that she was talking about afterward.

I don't know if she ever saw the revolver or not during it all. I honestly don't think she did.

She definitely heard the gunshot's pop, and screamed, but I honestly think it was just generically at a loud noise as I whisked her away. She definitely knew something was way awry, yet I think the worst of it she did not see.

Love grows thin

when God does not script according to the American Dream.

Love grows thin when God does not author according to mankind's notions of how and when they perceive God ought to.


I wonder how many people were telling Jesus things like "things will get better for you", "focus on the positive", "God is going to bless you", etc when He was on the tree dying.

So many have no clue they are worse than Job's friends...

nothing in the tank

hello friends,

Just wanted to let you know Father is scripting a death right now and it's all I seem to be able to think about. It's rather gruesome, at least from my view, and very very painful.

My only hope is there is a rebirth coming after this death. But for now all that consumes me is the pain of this death, which must come first.

A good friend some time back reminded me that trees are barren in winter. There is no fruit, no expectation of it, and that is how things are.

I am barren now. Have been for a long time.

This has led to a clash: on one hand the desire to pen things ebbing and brewing inside in the midst of this, on the other hand the desire to pull all the way back, retreat to the furthest recesses and die this death quietly and privately.

My heart is it's time to cave it completely until this is over.

I have long desired this season to be over.

I absolutely fucking hate it. Every day is a piercing to the marrow. Every day are multiple bludgeonings. Fists of circumstances which never seem to tire from pummeling. They're laser locked on my nose, and boy are they accurate. And fierce.

I'm tired.

I'm bruised, and I'm hurting. And I just feel like going off alone to face the rest of this, the end of this, however long.

Maybe I'm two and a half years into a forty year wilderness of desolation. So be it. Maybe it's twenty-three years.

And what should I read last week except "for Your sake we are put to death all the day long; we are regarded and counted as sheep for the slaughter".

This is difficult to digest. It's even more difficult to face and to live.

Yet it's not the end of the story.

I don't know when the next chapter will come about.

I only know that this current slaughter has become almost unbearable. It's not unbearable, but sure seems to teeter on the brink.

Kill me quickly, Father, if You will. Please hold me while I bleed. Please hold me until it sleeps.